


Birds in a cage

by Eien_no_Tsuki, ilianka_smoulinka_91



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, Eremika - Freeform, F/M, Major character death - Freeform, Soldier Eren, jewish Mikasa, jewish holocaust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eien_no_Tsuki/pseuds/Eien_no_Tsuki, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilianka_smoulinka_91/pseuds/ilianka_smoulinka_91
Summary: After years of being apart from each other, two childhood friends cross paths once again, not in the way they would ever wished."As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words." - William Shakespeare.





	1. The raid

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of violence.

**In spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can't build up my hopes on a foundation consisting of confusion, misery, and death. I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness, I hear the ever approaching thunder, which will destroy us too, I can feel the sufferings of millions and yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again." - Anne Frank.**

 

 

* * *

 

_Theresienstadt, Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, autumn 1943:_

When the main gates of the ghetto opened, none of its residents realized it, except for a few guard dogs who guarded the buildings of the main street, barking incessantly as they saw the soldiers in the SS vans crossing the streets, before getting off. It was past midnight and the starless sky threatened to rain, flooding the muddy streets and its ramshackle buildings. If there was something the Jews in the ghetto hated more than the German soldiers, was the second half of the year: the humidity and cold weather made the living conditions of all the residents unbearable, exposing them, in the worst of cases, to a sure death.

The Ackermans jumped off their beds when they heard the screams and barks outside their apartment. The whole place was a pandemonium and the Jews would be deported to East, to a place called Auschwitz. At least that's what they heard through the grapevine that had spread throughout the ghetto for weeks. But nobody wanted to go to the East; the ones who left, never came back.

"Mikasa! Mikasa, wake up! We have to leave ... " Samuel Ackerman exclaimed in a whisper, shaking his eighteen-year-old daughter, while his wife rushed to put in a small suitcase what was indispensable for a sudden escape. The yells of the SS soldiers and the Czechoslovakian Gestapo police body could be heard from the first floor, shooting, screaming, and throwing and breaking things. The Ackerman family lived on the third floor; They had a few minutes before the uniformed beasts reached them.

"Dad ... What's wrong?" The girl asked in a lazy voice when she awoke, rubbing her eyes. His father handed her a coat. "C'mon, hurry up. Wear this and don't forget the armband. We must leave. Now."

Mikasa soon heard the screams and reacted to the imminent danger. She put on her coat and the armband with the Star of David in her left arm, as she watched her mother hiding the family jewels in small pieces of bread.

"Mom ..." she called her, somewhat dizzy as if she wasn't totally awake. "What are you- ...?"

"Here," the woman said, putting one of the pieces of bread in her daughter's mouth before she could speak again. "Don't lose them. This will allow us to live when we get out of here."

"Tamara, we must leave now," Samuel warned them, after looking through the slit of the half-open door to the stairs that led to the second floor of the building. They could already see the soldiers shadows, who lit their way with flashlights as they burst into the houses, kicking the doors, making those who lived inside to scream in fear.

"Mikasa, keep your identity card in your coat and don't lose it," Tamara said, grabbing the suitcase. The girl already had a couple of sheets of paper in her hand that she quickly put in the pocket of her coat.

"They're here," the father announced, walking away from the door. "Let's go already."

And so, the three of them left, taking care not to be seen, with mouths full of bread and a small suitcase as all their luggage. They had to get to the back of the building and reach the west wall without being seen by any soldiers, or they could end up getting killed easily. Samuel had agreed to deliver his mother's old diamond ring to the wall watcher in exchange for being let out of the ghetto with his family before being selected for deportation to Poland. That was his plan: to flee Theresienstadt, buy fake IDs with the help of their jewelry somewhere in Czechoslovakia; try to cross the border into Austria to end up in Switzerland, where the Germans had not been able to establish their regime of terror. They would start anew, him, his wife and his daughter; they were close to their destination. All that was left was to run a little more, a bribe to an SS member, and everything would be fine.

Perfectly fine.

They weren't going to die that night. Not in the midst of chaos, confusion, and fear. No.

Samuel Ackerman would keep his family safe.

The sound of machine guns and screams filled the streets. It was the first time Mikasa saw so many dead people in one place; Tamara could no longer cover her daughter's eyes to keep her from looking at the corpses as they fled, hiding as they could from the dangerous and threatening glares of the Schutz-Staffel soldiers, stopping here and there, heart in their throats and cold sweat running through their temples as soon as they heard a strange noise near them ...

_"Halt!"_

The three of them froze before the scream. When they looked to the right, a cold-eyed soldier with a steel helmet was pointing with a gun at them. The family raised their hands, letting him know that they were surrendering, as the Nazi demon beckoned one of his comrades for them to approach. The Ackermans could not see much: they were hidden between two walls, now deprived of any escape.

"Papers," the new soldier said, a tall, blond boy, the first one still threatening the family. For a moment, Samuel Ackerman thought he could reconcile with one of his countrymen, hearing that he had spoken in German, his native language.

"Sir, I think- "

"Give me the damn papers!" The uniformed man shouted, with an almost demonic rage, splashing his saliva on them. He had no need to say it twice; the three Jews in front of him handed him their ID cards in the blink of an eye.

The soldier's eyes slid over the photographs as his gaze went to the woman and her daughter, arching an eyebrow in a suspicious grimace. Tamara didn't own Aryan features at all, anyone could notice; she was short, with slanted dark oriental eyes, long black hair, and thin, delicate features. Mikasa looked like her, but her eyes were larger and almond-shaped, gray colored. From her father, she had only inherited the height and face shape.

"Are you of German descent?" the young soldier asked Tamara, as his comrade continued pointing at them with his machine gun. The woman shook her head.

"My father was Japanese," she answered, her voice almost inaudible. The blond soldier looked again at her ID and the girl's.

"Why are you here? Japanese are our allies, "he announced as if he had realized something. The next second, he gave the document back to her. "You can leave," he said, gesturing his partner to remove the woman from the trio. Tamara looked at her husband and daughter and they looked back at her, their eyes filled with panic. The other soldier pushed her to the side with the handle of his weapon.

"But ... my family ..."

"The Jew stays. And so the girl," he pointed at Mikasa. "If the father is Jewish, she is Jewish too," The soldier stated bluntly. His speech was memorized and robotic, just as his movements. Samuel and his daughter opened their eyes wide, terrified, as did Tamara.

They were not going to move them apart. Death was even better than be apart from their loved ones.

"No ... I am Jewish by adoption, Sir-"

The soldiers didn't allow her to finish her sentence; they had burst out laughing before she said anything else as if that woman's fear of being separated from her family was the funniest joke they had ever heard.

One of the uniformed ones spat on the ground.

"Have you heard that shit, Hoover? The lady is proud to be Jewish scum!" both of them burst into laughter again. Mikasa was about to walk towards them and beat the shit out of these demons, but her father guessed her intentions and held her tightly, before she could move. "No, ma'am. We're not allowed to keep you here. The Führer's orders to protect our allies' countrymen. You leave here and tomorrow you'll be transferred to Berlin."

"No ..." Tamara Ackerman tried to go back to her family, but one of the soldiers threw her to the ground, pushing her mercilessly. Mikasa screamed, just like her father, but this only led them to a pointless struggle, where the strongest and cruelest of all had everything in their favor. Tamara struggled to stay with her family, and they joined her, causing the soldiers to point them with their machine guns again. But that wasn't enough to stop the Ackermans, much less the SS military, who fought to drive them away only because of an unhealthy desire to see them suffer and even beg for their lives. They couldn't kill the Jew and his daughter, though, for they were fit to be used as slave labor in the East. That was the order. However, the fight didn't last long; It had been less than a minute when there was a dry sound that stopped them all.

A gunshot.

Two more soldiers ran to the place, flashlights in hands, consciously ignoring the woman who bled on the floor, right after the bullet that went through her skull. A dark-haired girl screamed in pain, while her father held her tight, preventing her from being the next to die. The sky was dark and cloudy, and the storm threatened to fall upon them, flooding all Theresienstadt.

That night, thousands of families suffered the hell of seeing their loved ones being murdered. Hitler's followers were merciless, and they would stop at nothing.

"Hoover, Braun, to North tower!" Their superior barked as he arrived. He had bushy eyebrows, a superb blond hair, and a severe gaze. Mikasa ignored them; she just wanted to embrace her mother's lifeless body, as burning tears of hatred and desolation ran down her cheeks.

"Heil Hitler!" The two soldiers responded, raising their right arms straight to give the military salute before leaving.

"Jaeger, take this pair of scumbags to wagon 4B," said Sturmbannfuhrer Smith to his subordinate, the one next to him: a brown-haired boy no older than 20, with turquoise eyes and a haughty presence.

"Heil!" The boy roared hoarsely, raising his right arm. Smith turned his back to walk away, while the soldier pointed to the Jews with his machine gun once more.

How many times had they been about to die that night?

"Move!" He yelled at them angrily, as Samuel Ackerman tried to get his daughter up, holding the tears that wanted to come out of his eyes. He didn't want to leave his wife's corpse there; It was cruel, it was inhumane, heartless ...

But worse would be to let his daughter die before his eyes, when she was all he had now.

Mikasa looked up in the midst of her sorrow when her wet eyes met the boy's, the one dressed as a soldier. A twinge of physical pain shot through her head as thousands of memories went back to her brains...

The young soldier lowered the weapon, completely paralyzed.

"Mikasa..." he gasped, his voice almost imperceptible.

 

**xxx**

 

_The Jaeger house was silent. Seriousness and apathy reigned over it. A bitter taste of loneliness and vague memories of joy that never came back, nor would ever return. The colorful walls couldn't move away from that grayish cloudiness, emanated from the stillness of its quiet corners. Neither the bright floors, nor the paintings hanging on the wall, nor the posters in that old room that once belonged to Grisha Jaeger's youngest child..._

_Nothing._

_Once, that house had been filled with childish laughter and the steps of four small feet running around, here, there, up and downstairs. Anyone could hear the resounding laughter of two children who had been inseparable, just as milk and cookies; as a superhero and their sidekick; like two pieces of the same puzzle. That's how that couple of kids had been._

" _Eren, come here,_ " _Carla ordered her little boy who, reluctantly, with languid steps, approached his mother._

" _What?_ " _He answered apathetically, with no interest shown._

_"I told you to say 'yes, ma'am',_ "  _replied the brown-eyed woman._ " _Come here, there's someone I want you to meet._ "

_His mother grabbed his shoulders to make him walk, step by step, to a person his height; a girl with a pink dress as delicate as a flower; stockings as white as the shoes she was wearing. A delicate girl holding a rag doll in her hands, her hair combed in two braids decorated with red bows. A girl._

_"Introduce yourself, Eren. Be a gentleman," Carla ordered, pushing him lightly._

_Eren ended up taking awkward steps towards the girl, avoiding her gaze. He was never a sociable child, on the contrary, he used to sit at some empty bench on the park, looking at the sky, looking for shapes in the white clouds that covered the sky. Lost in his imagination, always wondering what was beyond._

_"I'm Eren," said the listless, flushed boy, a shy expression on his eyes as he turned his face away._

_The girl blinked a couple of times to see her mother, who nodded, giving a slight nudge on her shoulders to bring her closer to the child._

" _My name is Mikasa,_ " _she said, slightly ashamed, hiding behind her small doll._

 

**xxx**

 

"Eren..." she said, unable to believe that the cruel fate had brought them there.


	2. Pull the trigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just... don't panic.

**HERE IS A SMALL FACT**

**You are going to die.**

 

" _I am in all truthfulness attempting to be cheerful about this whole topic, though most people find themselves hindered in believing me, no matter my protestations. Please, trust me. I most definitely_ _can_ _be cheerful. I can be amiable. Agreeable. Affable. And that's only the A's. Just don't ask me to be nice. Nice has nothing to do with me."_ \- The Death's introduction about itself. Markus Zusak, from The Book Thief's prologue.

 

* * *

 

_**Berlin, autumn 1935.** _

 

 

_"Achtung! Achtung!"_

_It was 7 am. The shout of the bike boy handing out the morning newspaper made many people in the city wake up, or open the doors of their homes to receive him and learn the latest news. Carla Jaeger was no exception: with a cup of tea in hand to ease the autumn coldness, the brown-haired woman peeked out from the doorway, waiting for the newspaper that would fall at her feet in a few seconds. A monochromatic range of yellow covered the streets in Berlin, and Klemkestrasse was no exception, while the hundreds of trees that surrounded it dropped their leaves on the asphalt like a rain of golden flakes._

_"Achtung! Achtung! The Völkischer Beobachter is here! Achtung! Achtung!"_

_"Guten morgen, Mrs. Jaeger!" Said a little voice with a sharp, childish sound that came from nowhere. Carla's eyes descended to discover the origin of the voice she already knew so well._

_"Guten morgen, Mikasa. But I told you not to call me Mrs. Jaeger, okay?"_

_"It's okay ..." the girl answered shyly, her hands behind her back and her right tippy-toe spinning nervously on the ground. "Good morning, Aunt Carla."_

_"That's better, honey. Did you come alone?" The woman asked with a broad smile. The girl shook her head._

_"Mom comes behind, but I ran pretty fast ..."_

_"You want to play with Eren early today, don't you?" Mikasa nodded vehemently, making flutter the pretty blue ribbon that adorned her long, beautiful hair. "It's okay. He's waiting for you at the table for breakfast. Go, come in."_

_The little girl soon entered the house, with bright eyes and hopping with joy at the illusion of seeing her best friend. Soon, children's voices were heard from the dining room, while Mrs. Ackerman made her appearance before the porch of the Jaeger's house._

_"Good morning, Tamara," Carla greeted her. "It seems that Mikasa came much more enthusiastic today."_

_"Yes, ma'am. Guten Morgen," the dark-haired woman answered with a slight bow. "Is she inside? I tried to stop her, but she is not listening to me now."_

_Carla laughed, rolling her eyes._

_"I think she's learning a lot from Eren. Let`s go inside; It's getting a little cold, don't you think? I made some coffee."_

_Tamara Ackerman opened her eyes, somewhat shocked._

_"Oh, you shouldn't have... You should have waited for me, Mrs. Jaeger..."_

_"No. It's okay. Sometimes you work too much," Carla said, with a warm smile and a sweet voice. However, it kinda frustrated her that this woman with beautiful black hair and slanted eyes still addressed her with such formality, after more than a year of working for her as her housekeeper._

_"Achtung! Achtung!" the bike boy was coming closer._

_"It's okay, ma'am," Tamara answered, putting one foot inside the house. "Does your stepson come today?"_

_"Yes. Today we'll cook a little more than usual. Zeke has a huge appetite."_

_"Achtung! Achtung! The Völkischer Beobachter is already here ...!" The boy yelled, throwing one of the newspapers toward the Jaeger's porch. Carla caught it in the air and then went into the house after closing the door shut. It was not her favorite newspaper, but the other ones seemed to have gone out of circulation, and until then, this was the only one available to read the news._

_That would be a day like any other. Or at least that seemed until then. Tamara would start preparing lunch before cleaning the rooms, and Eren and Mikasa would play in the backyard, waiting for Armin, while Carla planned the next meeting of the League of Catholic Women. Then she took another sip of coffee and untied the knot that rolled up the newspaper, after sitting on the sofa to read it._

_The headlines made her open her eyes wide, as the pores of her skin bristled like tiny mountains._

 

_MARITAL HEALTH LAW APPROVED_

_MARRIAGES BETWEEN JEWS AND NON-JEWS BANNED_

_THE CHANCELLOR ADOLF HITLER ASKS HIS COMPATRIOTS_

_TO PROTECT THE GERMAN PEOPLE FROM THE UNDESIRABLES._

 

_Prohibitions and more prohibitions. Supremacy of the Aryan race; Germany free of plagues. Jews, get out of here! And many other phrases like that began to grow before the ears of every German. Carla shook her head, wondering where all the nonsense that dragged even the littlest ones would lead; Then she massaged the bridge of her nose and sighed, sure that she could not finish her reading, after having seen how the image of thousands of innocent people in a single column was defamed._

_She had talked to her husband before about that. Grisha simply nodded or shook his head at his wife's words, but she never knew for sure what he thought about all this madness. They had argued once, after seeing Eren return from school with a brooch with the swastika insignia attached to the pocket of his shirt. Dr. Jaeger tried to calm her down by saying that these were only unimportant things, and Carla argued that the National Socialist Party swines wanting to introduce their ideology to children was the last straw. She didn't accept it. No. Her housekeeper's husband was Jewish; her son's best friend was Jewish. Even she herself had many Jewish friends, and it outraged her to see how they were vilified day by day by a group of soulless people._

_Lost in her thoughts and worries, the brown-haired woman saw her son pass in front of her. Eren was looking for something in the cupboard. She looked at him carefully and sighed, asking heaven that everything she feared was just that._

_A fear._

_However, her mother's instinct told her that she should do everything possible to protect her son from the cruel world._

_"Eren, could you come here for a moment?" asked the brown-eyed woman. Eren left what he was doing to go to his mother. Mikasa must be back in the garden, and her mother cleaning something on the top floor._

_"Yes, Mom?"_

_"I wanted to ask you for a favor, Eren," she said at the same time she clapped on the couch where she was sitting, telling the boy to sit next to her and listen to her words._

_"What is it, mom?"_

_"Mikasa is your friend, right?" she asked as she put his arm around the little boy, receiving a small "mhmm" in response. "Well, I'm glad ... Son, I want you to always remember that Mikasa is your friend; part of your family, okay?"_

_"Will Mikasa go somewhere?" The child asked, concerned._

_"No, my child, Mikasa will keep coming as long as Mrs. Ackerman works here. Where do you get that from?" she answered to restore his tranquility._ " _I just want you to protect her always, no matter what, as the gentleman you are," she said as she ruffled his hair lightly._

_"But Mikasa is so strong that she can stand up for herself," he growled, managing to get a laugh from his mother, who shook her head._

_"I know, I know," she said as the laughter disappeared and the atmosphere became heavy, gray, "but things could get ugly for her and her family," she explained._

_"Why?"_

_"Well, there are many bad people in the world, my child, and there are many people who want to hurt other people, like the villains in the comics that you read, and you need superheroes to protect people in trouble ..."_

_"Do you mean that there are villains?" He asked innocently._

_"Yes, son, that's why ... Will you protect Mikasa?"_

_"Like a superhero ?!" Said the emerald-eyed boy with excitement._

_"Yes, like a superhero," his mother answered with a sing-song laugh, embracing her little one._

_Carla had to make sure that her words were recorded forever in her innocent little ten-year-old son's head._

_He should be there for Mikasa, always._

_He..._

_«I must protect her»_

 

* * *

 

Move, you damned Jewish scum! Move!"

A few yards away, the screams of prisoners' anguish and the barking of dogs and soldiers could be heard intermingled, confusing Theresienstadt's ghetto with the very hell on earth. The cries scraped the ears and tore the soul of any human being foreign to that torment.

But until then, there was not a single one that could see from outside. There were only two sides: the condemned and oppressed, and the oppressors. They kicked, beat, killed anyone who opposed. Children, the elderly, men, women, without any distinction; Because, did Death make distinctions? No. Death was not like money; One could say that Death is kind, friendly, even. Death dragged with it the lightest soul in the blink of an eye, freeing it from an impending and unavoidable hell ...

In a way, Death had saved Tamara Ackerman from the  _Gehenna_  that very dawn.

And at the same time, her daughter and her husband faced the excessive rage of a young turquoise-eyed soldier.

"I said move! You fucking jew!"

Eren seemed to have no soul. His green eyes, now glazed, seemed empty, devoid of humanity. Humanity drained by years of an exhaustive and painstaking brainwashing that now put him against that girl he had once wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Mikasa, with trembling lips and incredulous eyes, stared at him. Why did he yell at them? Why did he look at them like a couple of rats, just like the rest of the Germans had looked at them for so many years? Why did he despise her? That was not the Eren she knew.

That was not  _her_  Eren.

He was a demon. Like all the others. And it hurt, like an arrow in the chest; It hurt so much that it was unbearable.

Her father could not believe it either.

Before the machine gun handle hit them, Samuel Ackerman helped his daughter to get up from the floor to walk to where the soldier intended to take them, followed by the metallic glow of the threatening gun, and those hellish green eyes that drilled them with perverse anger.

Why had not he agreed to flee to the forest when his siblings warned him? Samuel thought about Kenny and Kuchel, and he regretted not having listened to them. He wanted to cry, scream; to cry out to a God who did not know if existed to take him out of that hell, together with his daughter. A God that would allow them to live, or that the boy he did no longer know would pull the trigger and free them from the agony of uncertainty and the emptiness of loss ...

"Mikasa! No!" the father shouted. In the blink of an eye, her daughter had pushed the boy to the ground. Eren cursed through the rooftops as he fell, and Mikasa ran to his father to take him by the hand and run away with him, but something stopped her ...

"Just one more step and I pull the trigger."

The same voice that had lulled her so many times in the past; that voice whose laughter had made her heart jump with happiness, now roared, grim, evil, merciless.

Eren's voice.

The arms of the young soldier were like jaws that firmly encircled the Jew's neck. With the cold metal tube pointed at his temple, Samuel Ackerman asked his daughter with pleading eyes to run away and leave him there.  _Save yourself_ , it was all she could see him mouthing. But Mikasa could not.

"If you move, I'll kill him," Soldier Jaeger repeated with a hellish fire in his pupils. Mikasa's eyes watered and her jaw trembled, because she mistakenly believed that he would let them escape, that he would pronounce her name again the way he had done years ago, and the memories would return to him, and he would save her, as one day he had promised...

But none of that happened. She knew that she could not dream or wait for a miracle; the reality was much colder, it was as dark as a cloudy and moonless night. Miracles did not exist, and her faith would not save her; No matter how many prayers she uttered in silence, they were just that: prayers. Prayers that nobody would listen to. Who would listen to the cries of a dirty pig? Who would take the trouble to attend the prayer of beings as detestable and pitiful as them?

Neither would God.

The God of their ancestors had forgotten them and Heaven now mocked all Jews, just as the boy who had once been her friend did.

"Eren … Please..." she pleaded, as if she were wearing out the last ray of hope that could be left in a troubled heart.

As in an act of revenge for having heard his name coming out of the girl's mouth, Eren Jaeger abruptly released the man he had apprehended and hit him with the gun's buttstock. And he kicked him, spit at him and pushed him to make him get up again, and with cold eyes followed the movements of the girl who helped her father.

"Walk, both of you! There!" He shouted, pointing with the machine gun to the furthest wall from the rails.

"Jaeger, where are you taking those two? You must lead them to the train!" bellowed a voice that Mikasa knew. A voice so new and so familiar that made her spirit shudder, praying, waiting, longing that it was who she wanted it to be.

But above all, praying that he hadn't lost the humanity that Eren had been taken from.

The blue-eyed soldier approached them, his head covered by an armored helmet and a weapon on his shoulder. Neither was he the same child as before; He had grown, and his eyes were no longer laughing but dismal. Those eyes that once shone like the sky in a sunny day, looked more like a wintry and foggy morning; their kindness was now extinguished. Who in their right mind would have dared to ruin those eyes, shining like a perfect day, to turn them into a cloudy sky?

"Armin ..." the girl whispered underneath her breath, in the ravings of her despair. Her vocal cords seemed to break and her breath rasped her throat. The new soldier did not notice her or her father, as if avoiding them on purpose.

"These two won't go to the train. I have precise orders to kill whoever tries to escape," Eren replied, his voice hoarse and dry. His comrade remained expressionless and motionless.

"Don't do it here. You could block the passage of others. Take them there," Armin said, pointing to the corner of a makeshift concrete barrack a couple of meters beyond the ghetto's nursery.

" _Sieg Heil!_ " Eren exclaimed, before indicating with a nod to his prisoners where they should go. The Ackermans continued their journey to the darkest corner, exhausted, knowing that everything would end that night for them. Samuel squeezed his daughter's hand when they arrived at the barrack, and as an act of definitive rebellion, he turned his back on the soldier who threatened to take their lives.

"Don't cry, Mikasa. Soon we'll be with your mother again."

"Shut up!" The boy shouted as he loaded his gun, ready to shoot. Mikasa smiled, not noticing the drops of salty water that were now coming down her sharp jawline.

A few seconds later, a machine gun was discharged on a pile of flesh, and Eren Jaeger returned with the squad he had been assigned to, fulfilling his mission to evacuate the Theresienstadt ghetto.

Armin Arlert looked toward the barracks and sighed. The darkness of that night seemed hungrier than usual, looking desperately for a wandering soul to devour.


	3. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O fortune, fortune! All men call thee fickle. If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him. That is renowned for faith? Be fickle, fortune, For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long, But send him back.
> 
> -Juliet's speech. Act 3, scene 5, from Romeo and Juliet. William Shakespeare.
> 
>  

 

**_Berlin, summer of 1936._ **

_“Come on, Mikasa, stop being a chicken.” Eren insisted to the girl sitting on the grass, with her rag doll between her arms, hugging it tightly. The raven-haired girl shook her head, saying no to her friend’s request._

_“I don’t want to get dirty, my mom is going to get mad if I go into the house all wet.” she explained as she stared at the enormous puddle of water next to the railing, then she stared at her white stockings and her yellow dress. That was only a mess waiting to happen, and she knew it; not even a tiny little stain was acceptable for her mother, let alone coming back home drenched in mud._

_“Armin_ _w_ _ill hold you tight, we won’t let you fall, right, Ar?” he asked his friend looking for support to convince her. There is strength in numbers, right? Asides, Armin was smart, and Mikasa trusted him._

_“Eren, don’t force her,” he suggested, “we don’t want to get her into trouble, do we?”_

_“She won’t ge tinto trouble if we don’t let her fall.” Eren corrected._

_“If I am hanging off the railing my skirt will lift up and everyone is going to see my panties.” she excused herself, ashamed to reveal such private information to the boys._

_“Eren, leave her alone.”_

_“It isn’t my fault she is a chicken.” he spat as he bent his arms, then started to mimic said animal, making sounds with his mouth, while he looked at the onyx eyed girl with daring eyes. “A chicken, Mikasa is a chicken!” he scoffed._

_The angry girl got up from the ground, leaving her doll aside. With clenched fists and firm steps, she walked to both boys who defied her courage. “I am not a chicken!” she cried out._

_“Chicken, chicken!” the green-eyed brat kept making fun of her, walking around her, mimicking the way a chicken walks, playing with her pride._

_“I AM NOT A CHICKEN!” she screamed, now angry, making people turn her eyes to her. Eren smiled in victory as he saw how his plan worked and he made the coward girl get up from her spot to join their game._

_“Okay then, Armin, you take her hands.”_

_“But Eren…”_

_“The first one to fall is a rotten egg!” the playful green-eyed kids announced as he climbed up to the railing, giving Armin space enough to climb with him._

_He held the bar tight as he moved his legs up, trapping them with the bar for them to keep him up as his torso went down, holding out his arms, waiting for Armin to do the same. When both kids were hanging upside down, Mikasa took Armin’s hands and lifted up her legs one by one for Eren to take them so they could swing her, just to test who was strong enough to keep her up the longest time._

_They were just that innocent, so innocent things didn’t make sense, but they didn’t need to make sense to get a good laugh, to feel happy._

_“See, it isn’t that bad, Mikasa.” Eren pointed out, looking down to his friend._

_She tried to relax, but then she felt as the skirt of her dress slid up her legs, reminding her of the view she was giving to the people walking by. Her mother always reminded her to be modest. For a lady never shows up such things as her underwear. That was when she freaked out, as she didn’t want to disobey her mother. She gasped as she started to shake her legs, struggling to get off._

_“Mikasa, stop moving or I’m going to-” he couldn’t even finish the sentence when he felt his own legs giving in, sliding off the railing, making him fall directly into the puddle. Next to him, his friend landed, and she accidentally pulled Armin along with her._

_The three kids fell into the puddle, and drenched in water, they let out a concert of laughter that filled the whole Klemkestrasse. But their laughter ended when a pair of shadows eclipsed the sunlight on their faces, and made them squint their eyes to see. “Look what we have here, Jaeger the masochist, his stupid friend and his jewish girlfriend. Now you want to be black, trio of idiots?” the taller person barked: a redhead boy with a military haircut and a snub nose. The three kids looked up to the importunate voice bugging them “if that’s the case, let us help you with that.”_

_The new kid and his brother pounced over Armin, indimidating, pressing his head in the puddle of mud while he tried to resist with no success. Eren tried to help him, but the youngest of the Galliards held his arms, blocking his way to his friend._

_“Let go, he is drowning!” the girl’s high pitched voice screamed while she was watching desperately how her friends were repressed by the Galliards, the children of a high government official and very supporter of Hitler. With her pretty little dressed drenched in mud, and her hair tangled, Mikasa got on her feet, wishing to be able to do something to stop both troublemakers that did not only picked fights at school, but also outside of it. It seemed like they became their shiny new toy._

_A spittle fell on the girl’s face so suddenly, like the annoying burst of laughter that followed such disgusting act. Humiliated, Mikasa wiped off the nasty fluid off her face with the only spot on her dress that was left clean._

_“Take that, Jewish scum!” Porko mocked her, the youngest of the siblings, while he held Eren._

_“Don’t call her that! You pork face! Let go of my friend”_

_“What did you call me, Jaeger?” he asked as he spun Eren to grab him by the shirt violently. Eren and Mikasa were far more worried about Armin’s face buried in the mud than what would happen to them._

_“Pork face, motherfucker.”_

_Thump!_

_Eren was pushed to the mud again. A mob of curious kids gathered around the five kids, chanting to cheer what was going to become a fistfight._

_“Eren!” Mikasa gasped, but he ignored her, getting up on his feet instantly to pounce on Porko and punch him in the face. The brunet and redhead fell to the ground starting a violent confrontation. Mikasa pushed Marcel so that she could free Armin, who would have drowned if it were not for her. Porko wrapped his hands around Eren’s neck as Mikasa punched Marcel’s face non-stop, with the slamming sound disappearing with the chanting of kids cheering them on._

_“Fight! Fight! Fight!” were the sounds ecoing in the sunny park in Berlin._

_“As soon as I am done with you, Jaeger, I’ll go for that Jewish bitch and I’ll teach her not to mess with her superiors!” Porko barked with no intentions of letting go of his victim. But Eren, as he heard such humiliating insult to his best friend, gathered strength from an unknown source to free himself from Porko’s grip._

_“Don’t call her that, you son of a bitch!” Eren screamed, with those green eyes sparked up with rage, while Porko was under Eren’s mercy and was reduced with a single punch. Even the siblings that arrived with impeccable clothing, rolled over their bellies like worms, covered in mud and paying for their offense, beaten by a pair of kids far smaller and lighter than them._

_“Mikasa! Eren! Stop! Let’s go home.” cried Armin with a worried voice, catching his friends’ attention, who decided to, finally, let go of the galliards. Even though he was raging, Eren was impressed: it was the first time he ever saw his best friend punched someone that way._

_Without foreseeing it, the green-eyed boy thought Mikasa was the most amazing girl he has ever seen._

_The crowd around them dissipated as soon as the fight ended, and Armin pulled his friends from there as soon as he could, leaving behind the angry moaning siblings that swore to get their revenge as soon as they met again. The trio walked away, laughing, making their way back home, and knowing what was waiting for them: the scolding of three angry mothers._

_Elizabeth Arlert held her son by his shirt’s collar and made him get into the house._

_Carla Jaeger pulled Eren by the ear, but was nothing compared to the lecture he was going to get. Moreover, Eren could not get away from that, not even by god’s will._

_Tamara Ackerman held her daughter by the arm, looking upset and disappointed. Mikasa would be grounded according to her offense, and that meant to stay with her father at work for a week, instead of going with her mother to the Jaeger’s house. She stained her new dress and had a fight with an older boy: nothing an eleven year-old lady should ever do. But, Eren promised to sneak out of his house along with Armin to visit her to the smithy, where Shmuel Ackerman worked; then the three of them would be together, showing that no punishment could ever keep them apart._

_Those three kids liked to think they would be together forever. That no fate or possible future where their bond was broken could ever happen. They dreamed of a world where they could always walk hand by hand, no matter what._

 

* * *

 

 

**Theresienstadt, Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, autumn of 1943.**

The heart is an organ that pumps blood; its beating causes the blood to travel through the veins. This is what it does inside living people.

And her heart was beating. And in her ears still echoed the impacts of the bullets that had cut the air mercilessly; and she could smell the gunpowder, and the putrescent smell of death, and she could feel the chill wind, and she could see the grayish surroundings. But she, she was alive.

Mikasa Ackerman got up from the floor with shaking legs, walking towards her father who was still on the floor, alive. He was alive, breathing, just like her.

"Papa," she sobbed softly. "Papa, we're alive."

They still breathed; their lungs filled with air, and blood still ran through their veins. He had let them live. That soldier with eyes as cold as ice, but as green as a forest that kept life and death in them; he who shouted at them with the wrath of a demon, had let them live.

 

"Quick, daughter, we have to hide," the father warned, taking her by the shoulders, with desperate eyes. "Come on," he insisted, pointing with regret to the corpses that were bulging in a pile, the product of those who had opposed the infernal selection of the night. That degrading act turned out to be a bloody irony: hiding life between death. In other circumstances, Mikasa would have expressed disgust and bewilderment. In another time, she, her father and her mother would have prayed a kaddish for the souls of those who had left ...

But no, there was no time for that. Not now. There was no time for prayers, nor prayers, nor looks to heaven for mercy. No. They should do it. Between that dreary corner filled with death, life had to be hidden, as if breathing was an unforgivable crime.

And it was.

For Jews, living was forbidden.

But they did not want to die.

They both watched the darkness finish engulfing the most remote corners of the ghetto. Not even the night sky was as dark as the scene that surrounded them; that dreary cemetery where the remains of what were once people rested after an unfair massacre.

The night was cruel; cold, so much, it reminded her of that soldier's eyes. Cruel, cold, but at the same time merciful, because it had allowed them to hide, to stay alive.

Without making any noise, the Ackermans spent the night awake, without closing their eyes, without lowering their guard.

And then, the morning arrived, illuminating the still grayish environment, with the sun giving them the warmth they needed; a morning so silent, that they could hear the footsteps of the mice that ran out of their hiding places to feel that the danger was moving away. As if the day saved a minute of silence for every soul that had left that world.

And the silence was rudely interrupted by footsteps that dared to approach, revealing a familiar silhouette that stopped suddenly, almost warning the slightest and fearful of breaths in the middle of the quiet sea caused by hundreds of deaths.

"Mikasa?"

The voice was quiet, silent, like the whisper of the wind as it passed through a broken blade. And, like the wind that passes through the faded and dead leaf, that voice pierced the girl's ears like a two-edged sword, cutting off her fear with firm lightness. She knew that voice as much as the palm of her hand, and the vocal cords that produced it; she knew his vibrations, his sharp and consonant timbre, because that voice belonged to the one who had once been his best friend.

"Mikasa?" soldier Arlert repeated, with the sound of his throat lost in a slight tremor of anguish. His body turned to the place where a pile of corpses began to be raised from its depths, fearful, hesitant, afraid that this call was nothing other than the trap that would lead the girl and her father to certain death, after having mocked it for an entire morning.

But this time there were no traps, no skirmishes, no soldiers spitting and screaming that they should be killed.

This time it was Armin, coming back to her to rescue them. Mikasa knew it, because as she emerged from the pile of lifeless bodies that had sheltered them from the guards throughout the morning, she saw again in those blue eyes the reflection of that pure and immaculate kindness that she had always seen in them. The sparkle of the purity of his heart, once crushed by the cruelty of the world, and now reborn when he pronounced her name.

"Armin?"

And Mikasa looked at him, in silence, unable to articulate a word after that. No one could speak, or produce any kind of sound, because nobody dared to. The cloudy sky-eyed boy opened his mouth, but there was no noise that he could make.

There were no hugs, no smiles. Only a nod from a young soldier, and a pair of lungs that sighed with relief at the hope that that familiar silhouette gave them over the prospect of staying alive.

"Come with me."

The words were pronounced with the severity that a case of life or death requires, without giving time for questioning. The Ackermans followed the blond soldier, taking care not to be seen by the SS guards, taking care not to breathe, and not making the slightest sound, as if they were afraid that the world would unfold its arms and crush them with ruthless fists.

Without making a single noise, Armin took them cautiously to the south wing of the ghetto, where the remaining vans rested after the assault. There were only a few minutes left until the bugle call, so few guards roamed the place, and soldier Arlert had been in charge of crossing strategic places in his attempt to escape. He knew what he should do: if one of his comrades or superiors saw him, he had to be able to raise his weapon against the Ackermans and...

He should be able to do it.

But no. That would not happen. They had not gotten there dangerously mocking the security of the ghetto just so that her friend and her father would end up dying. The young woman who followed him now was not any woman; It was Mikasa. His best friend, that child who had saved him so many times from the worst beatings and who now needed him, just when the entire universe condemned her existence. His comrade, his big sister and playmate.

The one that had disappeared five years ago when her parents took her to hide from monsters that considered them unworthy of life.

Monsters like what he was now. Monsters like the one Eren had become.

Demons that killed and destroyed.

And without saying a single word, Armin indicated that they should hide inside a trunk hidden in the cargo area of a van. Shmuel Ackerman was the first to doubt, looking at his daughter, wondering if he could really trust the boy whose face he had stopped seeing five years ago. But they had no other choice.

In all possible futures, Mikasa and her father only saw death. Only, in some realities, it was just closer to them than in others.

And before getting into his new hiding place, a pair of eyes like dark silver met the shimmering green of two emerald irises that moved away from her immediately, as if they burned before her presence.

However, the words were lost between them before they could escape their throats, and both Mikasa and her father hid once more in the hungry darkness that consumed their souls. Armin covered the trunk so carefully that it could go unnoticed when the van crossed the checkpoint to the field exit, and a couple of Jewish souls would be free again, even without knowing it.

Maybe God had not forgotten them, after all.

"Eren, we have to go now," Armin said as he got into the vehicle with a firm voice, without hesitation. Eren followed suit, turning on the engine and starting their way, advancing with care not to be obvious, not to attract attention. "We will stop at the next town. We have to wait to be able to cross."

Eren simply nodded, making no sound. Armin knew that the silence said much more than any word that came out in the form of a thunderous noise from his mouth. That silence was that confusion, those emotions that converged within him. The turquoise eyes were fixed on the road without detaching from it; the man with brown hair was driving, tense, with a dead expression, not even blinking. He wondered how Armin could keep himself so calm, with a firm expression, so common. While Eren felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, Armin looked calm.

When they reached the line of vehicles crossing the guardhouse, Armin glanced at his friend who was breathing heavily, tense. He was being so obvious, so different from the everyday Eren. The guards would notice in a second.

"Come on, calm down." he muttered under his breath, followed by a light tap on his side to get him out of the shock he was in. Eren gasped, startled, as if he had been holding his breath. As if he had been under water, drowning, to finally breathe out. He held the steering wheel firmly, accelerating when it was his turn to pass.

The mud under the tires splashed a bit and made the passage difficult. The rain fell, soaking everything around them; the cold air smelled of death, of gunpowder, of wet dog and mud.

"What brings you guys here?" The guard asked sternly, demanding a quick answer with the intimidating tone of his voice. He leaned in, trying to get a better view of what they were carrying in the van.

"Supplies." Armin answered calmly. The guard raised an eyebrow in confusion as he watched the sacks of potatoes that filled the vehicle. "Orders from _strumbannführer_ Smith." he explained, shrugging slightly with a resignation expression.

"Potatoes." the unconvinced man questioned.

"I can get off the car so you can check." Armin said as he began to open the car door. Eren tensed again, glancing at his comrade, who smiled so calmly that it disturbed him. He squeezed the wheel as hard as he could, hoping to disguise the trembling of his hands without taking his eyes off the front, counting the drops that fell on the windshield, hoping that it would distract him from what was happening.

The guard began to walk, however, the sticky mud that covered his boots made it difficult. He huffed in defeat.

"Leave." he ordered, indicating with his hands that they should advance. Eren was about to hit the accelerator, to get completely out of there as fast as possible, when a dogs barking stopped him. "Wait," he said as he moved off the way to let to another uniformed man holding the leash of one of the dogs sniffing the vehicle inspect. Anxiety consumed Eren. He could feel his own heart beating fast as his hands shook; he tried to disguise his erratic breathing while his friend looked as calm as a child.

"Ah, they must be hungry." Armin pointed out as he reached for a ball that exuded a strange scent. "You must have smelled my lunch, didn‘t you?" He asked the animal as he pulled out of the bag a small container with some stew inside. The guard stopped to see how the dog approached it, wagging his tail as he felt the strong scent of sausage that came from it. "There, boy, you work too hard." he said as he gave the sausage to the animal that fiercely devoured the blond-haired boy's offer.

The guards looked at each other and then rolled their eyes and laughed.

"Ah, freshmen. Recent graduates of the Hitler Jugend." he snapped. "You can go now."

Eren hit the accelerator almost immediately, moving as fast as he could, trying to calm down after that event. He was looking through the rearview mirror, waiting for the guards, the ghetto, to come out of his sight.

"What was that, Armin?!" He asked, still upset.

"Hey, you have to learn to be more discreet. If the guard had noticed how nervous you were, they would have caught us." he explained to his annoyed green-eyed comrade.

"I don't understand how you do it. You looked so calm."

"And you looked so nervous, though."

"Whatever." he said sighing as he refocused on the gray road.

Years ago, autumns were landscapes full of joy. Colorful. The ground was like a canvas painted with watercolors, with leaves watered everywhere with colors so warm that they contrasted with the cold weather. Autumns meant jumping over the mountains of dry leaves -that the man who cleaned the park picked up-, challenging Mikasa to flop on those piles to listen to her gasp with concern after having stained her dress. Autumn meant bare feet that ran over the leaves to hear them creak, and it meant listening to their mothers yell at them after they caught a cold. It meant spending the afternoon with Armin and Mikasa under a blanket, drinking the disgusting tea his father made them drink to get well. The dried leaves in those days were orange, yellow and brown; colors as vivid as the joy that made him laugh out loud when playing some prank on someone, but now they were gray. So gray and dull that they shook the happiest soul. Gray and blue that had stained the leaves that were once painted with heavenly watercolors and had turned them into ashes, after burning their childish joy, leaving only shy remains of what he and his friends had once been. Remnants entrenched and afraid to go out again, as Eren had once prayed, afraid for the cruel world did not consume them.

But no one heard their prayers, and there the three of them were now, devastated, like the buildings devoured by the bombs they left behind when the ghetto doors were closed, knowing that the prayers had been useless. That there was never anyone who could save them from that hellish emptiness.

Eren sighed at his thought, without wanting it. It was such an ironic cruelty that the girl who so often rescued him from the problems he got himself into, needed to be rescued. A cruel joke to have to save those he was taught to hate.

 

As if Earth regretted the catastrophe that was making its children bleed, the streets of Czechoslovakia were painted with gray and ash that darkened the red roofs and the green of the meadows. The icy autumn air cut the nostrils with arrogance and misery, sobbing for the lost souls when it blew and clothed the humanity of that pair of soldiers who traveled locked inside the metal of a van, in search of a place where they could rest their troubled spirits. Two hours would take the trip from the Theresienstadt concentration camp to Elbleiten, on the czech-german border, and there they would stop, hidden from the stench of death, and the ruthless cries and the putrefied souls.

The van stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse that had been used as weapons shelter months ago. Armin was the first to get off the vehicle and open the back doors, taking care that no one was watching. But as a point in their favor, Elbleiten was a quiet border town, and due to mass deportations, few people were left in it. There was only a deathly silence that cut through the ears, and the feet of the living seemed to have wanted to stop walking.

Mikasa's thick, long, dark hair moved away from her face when the girl was able to get out of that trunk, the moment it was opened by the hand of a blond soldier who reached out to help her down. Shmuel blinked several times to get used to the dim, ashen sunlight that filtered through an old window, while his daughter and he finally left their hiding place. A gust of cold air hit them in the face and invaded their bodies without warning, making Shmuel to fall to the ground as a result of the tension he had experienced since the night before.

" _Tate!_ " Mikasa's voice, calling her father in Yiddish, rose up over the place, echoing through the marrow of the brown-haired soldier who had not yet gotten out of the car. Despite her own weakness, the girl helped her father to his feet, while the blond soldier followed suit.

"Mr. Ackerman, take a seat here, please."

Mikasa's body shuddered as she heard for the second time the voice of the one who had once been her best friend. It had hardly changed much since she last heard him; but now it was a little less acute and deeper, and even rigid, as much as the face of who owned it, causing the kindness of his words and actions contrasted sharply with the austere expression marked on him, while moving his hand to point Shmuel where he should sit.

 _"Tate, bist fayn?_ "

The girl's father nodded at his daughter's question, guessing her intentions when speaking in Yiddish in front of the soldiers and not in German. Not because Armin could not understand something about a language derived from his, but because Mikasa wished to be able to highlight the invisible line that had been drawn between them several years ago.

It was her voice of protest.

Speaking in Yiddish was their cry of anguish at the unfairness they belonged to.

It was a silent scream at the broken promises.

And Armin knew it, as well as Eren.

And the emerald-eyed, brown-haired boy was lost in the emptiness of his thoughts, wondering if he would ever be able to get out of the van.

Mikasa remembered her mother, and with her, her death. And the memories stung her retina like cruel thorns, but she ignored them.

Shmuel put his hands to his head in despair, on the verge of despair. Armin watched them both, and knew that there was no corner without sadness left in their bodies.

"I'm sorry I wasted the sausages on those dogs ..." Armin commented, his voice a little warmer than the last time he let himself be heard. "I had to give it to them so that they would not sniffle in the trunk; but I managed to leave bread and cheese for both of you.".

The young soldier handed Shmuel a bag, who received it suspiciously before putting his hand to the back of his head and touching the spot where Eren had hit him the night before. The Jew moaned in pain and his daughter checked on him, her face demure in sadness and misery, wondering if she was not already dead, and if that was nothing more than an agonizing dream in an attempt to stay alive.

Then Eren finally got out of the vehicle and walked towards them, with clumsy and unsteady steps, heavy, almost drunk, until his gaze met the dense gray of eyes that turned away from him when he noticed them. Armin watched them both, and knew that many words floated in the air; words that cut them sharply and, nevertheless, had to be spoken.

"Sir, that wound looks bad. Come with me. I can help you with that." the blond soldier said, pointing with his body to a door in the back. Reluctantly, Shmuel shook his head.

"But..."

"Please, come with me. You will feel better after a while."

Shmuel Ackerman took a deep breath and stood up again. His body weighed, as did the oxygen he breathed and seemed to hit his lungs roughly. The father looked at his daughter before moving forward.

"Mikasa, come with ..."

"Sir, please, Mikasa must stay. She will be safe. Trust me."

Armin's voice was so warm and palliative that the thin, blond-bearded man with a good-natured and sad look had no choice but to follow him, leaving his daughter with the soldier who had humiliated them the night before. Shmuel would not have wanted to leave Mikasa, because he no longer trusted Eren; but he was too tired to fight, and his daughter did not seem to object to the prospect of being separated from her father.

What else could happen?

They were safe. Alive. Tamara had died, and with her, a piece of their souls; and just for that precise reason, the Ackermans had nothing left to lose.

 

The atmosphere became dense. As her father disappeared behind a brown door at the end of the corridor where they were, Mikasa could hear the beating of her heart pounding in her chest and hammering with the force of a heavy anvil; perhaps her heartbeat was even stronger than Armin's steps. Her blood pressure increased, and that dense crimson liquid ran through her veins as if it wanted to burn her, burn her while her eyes avoided meeting those pair of turquoise fires that could eat everything up in a single second, but also evaded her. She was alive, after all. There was silence between them; an old, shabby, sharp, painfully throbbing and haughty silence; a silence that drowned the thousands of words that were trapped in their throats, condemning them to remain locked up as hopeless inmates.

Words held for five years, words that now stabbed their souls without giving them any rest.

There was nothing more painful and heartbreaking at that moment than the stillness between them.

It was a shame that this friendship had broken into pieces; that bond that was supposed to be as strong as a pillar had been broken like a delicate crystal when it fell. It was depressing.

They were as pathetic and lame as the petals of a withered flower that fall when the wind blows.

A gasp from Eren cut through the air, and the gray eyes rose up to meet the green ones, crossing their paths for the hundredth time that day. Their souls and spirits touched and clenched madly, breaking with the cold distance, while their bodies remained motionless, incapable of uttering the slightest cry, with fear of being broken.

It was then that she heard her name again, and a dark vortex of longing and despair consumed all her sanity.

"Mikasa..." Eren's fingers tried to reach the skin of that girl's face. But he did not obey that throbbing desire. He could not do it, he was not worthy of that. All he did was ...

There was no answer.

Eren sensed wisely that the odds of his speech being a monologue were quite high.

"I'm glad that …" silence, again. Silence, and more silence. Eren's tongue was unable to move an inch more. She did not look at him either, and she did not even seem to hear him, which was even more hurtful. He felt like an asshole, weak and vulnerable; humiliated because he could not even speak, because he could not transmit everything he felt; Mute.

Mikasa had humiliated him before without realizing it. She had beaten his pride out so many times before, but none was as painful as that. Mikasa had humiliated him without moving a single finger, without even emitting a sound. She had hurt him.

But hadn't he hurt her? Wasn't he hurting her now?

He deserved it. He deserved that pain, he deserved her disdain. Maybe he deserved more than that, much more. He deserved that protest silence that built an invisible barrier between the two of them; a wall so high and dense that no one could bring it down. A wall that owned a broken friendship; the disdain he treated her so many times with in a single night.

The boy's voice rose once more between them, to utter a last phrase, so meaningless in a hell like that.

"I'm sorry."

Mikasa only heard the heavy thump of military boots as they pulled away from her, at unsure and heart-rending steps that stained the floor with their sins. Armin came back to her, as if he had been waiting for the right moment to return with his soothing presence and take her out of her agony.

Shmuel was left behind, resting from that undeserved but strictly necessary whack.

Armin approached his friend and took her firmly by the hand: cold, battered fingers rested on warm fingers bruised by the weapons, fingers that warmed the heart of a hopeless girl.

Armin was still her friend. That boy who kept in his eyes the blue sky of a sunny morning; the same child she had protected so many times before and the one who had shown her so many times the goodness of Creation and of God himself. The one whose soul was as light as a feather. The boy who had been born with a prayer in his heart and who now prayed for her without words.

That was Armin Arlert. Her best friend.

And a hug was all that was necessary to break like the dry trunk of a tree that falls to the ground and its branches break into a thousand splinters. Mikasa cried desperate tears; she cried of grief, loss, frustration, desolation, bitterness and even loneliness. She cried for her dead mother and her living father; she cried for herself and her people, for all the ones who were like her.

She cried because she was born Jewish and cursed. She cried as she had never cried before, with her face hidden on that young soldier's shoulder, who cradled her in his arms, happy to see her again.

And at the same time, in a corner of that place, a pair of emerald eyes watched the scene with the weight of guilt eating his brains.

Eren always wanted to be as pure as Armin. But his soul held grudges, pain and fear, and he feared to stain her with the dirt inside his if he dared to touch her.

Five years ago, he and Armin had lost the most valuable thing they had, and had recovered it on a turbulent night in the middle of the smell of death.

Then he looked at the sky after a long time, and in silence he thanked for having brought her back alive.

She was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. We have had many things to do but here we are, without forgetting our fic. We hope you like it and can take less time to update for chapter 4.
> 
> Yiddish, as you'll all see, is very similar to German, because it's a language derived from the latter as a consequence of the Jewish population in Central Europe, being a mixture of German and Hebrew. The words Mikasa used were: "Dad, are you okay?" Throughout this story, we will use more expressions in other languages, so always check the authors notes to know their translation. See you next chapter.


	4. The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had no betareader for this chapter, so we hope you guys can forgive our mistakes. This being said, enjoy.

 

Eren walked out of that abandoned building with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. His heavy boots stepped on the icy water puddles, splashing them with mud. He turned his gaze upwards with a long sigh in the form of vapor that quickly disappeared. The atmosphere reeked of smoke and the humidity of land and old streets were in chaos, as they were not prepared to withstand the strong spray of water. Eren pulled a cigarette out of his pocket to lit it. Immediately, he heard the sound of a door closing and a few steps approaching him slowly.

“Oi, what happened?” The blue-eyed soldier asked an upset Eren, who did not flinch. He continued in silence, watching as the black clouds threatened to spray that gloomy landscape again; as if the sky continued to cry for the innocent souls who left this world involuntarily last night.

After a few minutes of silence, Eren turned around and went back inside through the old and creaky door, passing by without turning to see the young woman who, seated, leaned against the wall to close her eyes and fell asleep. Trying to ignore her presence, it was easier than to face her after all.

 

Armin got in after him, closing the door with great care not to make noise; he did not want to disturb the sleep of the raven-haired young woman, who hugged herself, trying to get warm. The blond-haired boy walked towards her, taking off his jacket to cover her with it. That would keep her warm while she slept. The smell of tobacco permeated the air with the stench of damp wood and dust from that old warehouse. The footsteps resonated with echoes bouncing on the worn walls. Details that could tell them that the place had not received any maintenance in a long time.

 

"Eren," the anxious soldier called, following the young man who disappeared behind a door adjacent to the office where Shmuel Ackerman rested. His hurried steps sounded without any synchronicity with Eren’s firm steps, unlike any other day, when they marched synchronized, in unison. The door slammed shut, rattling sounding all over the place when Eren entered the room. That was an old cleaning room. There were only a few empty, dusty shelves; some cobwebs and buckets with traces of stagnant water that would have seeped through a leak. Eren took one of them to turn it over and sit on it before continuing smoking and leaving traces of smoke from his mouth as the ashes fell to the ground. Armin took another of the buckets to use as a seat, staring into a corner, where a spider was hunting an insect that fell into a web; for a second, Armin let his mind wander, wondering if that arachnid would do that for pleasure. Would that being think about its victim's life before devouring it? Did it feel guilty for having to kill by obligation, just as his comrades did?

 

Perhaps the spider did, perhaps in its mind was the memory and repentance for every sacrifice it had to make to survive. Alternatively, perhaps it enjoyed it like those murderers who, in cold blood, took the lives of those people. However, he could never know. When the cigarette was no more than an extinguished butt, Eren leaned his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands, babbling something inaudible to his friend. Armin raised an eyebrow, trying to decipher what Eren meant without success.

The smell of tobacco was strong, and the steam that escaped from his mouth some moments ago reminded him of the old days, when, as children, they pretended to smoke, putting a paper roll between their lips, and imagining that their breath was smoke. Who would say that game would become a despicable habit that Eren had acquired during adolescence. Armin hated that smell.

“It's getting late, soon it will be night and the guard will go down. We must start preparing everything, Armin," Eren suggested with a somber voice.

“We should calm down a little before leaving. We won't be able to drive if we are that anxious,” Eren got up, shaking off some of the dust that littered the back of his uniform and ironing his jacket, ignoring his friend's comment.

“Historia ... she'll wait for us at the farm. We can't take long.”

Armin got up with a sigh, walking behind his friend who came out the door, taking long steps towards the exit of the cellar. He, on the other hand, walked towards the young woman who slept sitting on the old wooden chair, with a great sorrow of having to wake her from her rest after that torment.

"Mikasa," He shook her lightly. Only that was enough for the young woman to open her eyes, frenzied. Armin sighed, embarrassed. “It's time to leave, I'll go for your father.”

“No, Armin, I -”

"Do what I say," he insisted. “The guards will go down, so we have to leave now.”

“Leave? Where?” she asked with concern walking behind the soldier while still covering with his jacket.

"Berlin." he said confidently, as he kept walking until they reached the end of the corridor.

“Berlin?!” she exclaimed with fear. With a pale face and open eyes, like a couple of inky lagoons. “Armin, do you have any idea -”

“You have nothing to be afraid. A friend will be there to help you hide. You must be calm, okay?” he interrupted her with calm voice. "Stay here. Eren is getting the car ready,” for Mikasa this one was the bitterest name, the name she had pronounced so sweetly years before, now it tasted like black coffee: bitter. The world was bitter for her; it was cold, and gray. Perhaps, being killed would have been better than being treated like the way he was doing to her... Like garbage. “Mikasa?”

"Uh ..." she stammered, stepping out of the spiral of her thoughts abruptly. Armin shook his head.

“I told you to wait here while I bring your father. I'll be back," he said before going through the door. Mikasa waited standing there for an instruction, impatient. Thousands of questions bombed her head; what intentions did these two soldiers have? Where would they take them? What would happen? Thousands of possible scenarios haunted her mind, thousands of ideas, thousands of memories that weighed on her chest, almost as much as she had mourned her mother's death.

After a few minutes, Shmuel Ackerman left that office along with Armin, who had bandaged his head with care.

"Please, follow me," he said as he moved away through the corridor. Mikasa took her father's arm, walking beside him to the exit. When he opened the door, he found that vehicle, a young man moving some things inside. “Oi, Eren! The brown-haired young man jumped slightly when his friend's unexpected call made him raise his head abruptly, hitting it with the car door. “Everything ready?” He asked, approaching him to look inside the vehicle. The trunk was ready for the Ackermans to enter, and the car was on.

“Uh ...” There was a short pause. “Yes. It's all ready," he said. Armin waved at them, so Shmuel and his daughter were quick to move toward the car. For a moment, Eren turned to see the raven-haired girl, who with her eyes on the ground waited for her father to come in with care not to hurt his head. But that moment became eternal, because by looking at her, he could remember everything that was before; A long time ago, when he was just a stupid child with stupid dreams, and she was a skinny and whining little girl. When his innocence was intact. Then, she felt the young soldier's gaze on the back of her neck. She turned around, hoping to see that child with whom she used to spend her afternoons playing and laughing, but she turned her eyes away as soon as she met that stranger who, in her eyes, was just like one of those demons who killed his mother.

The girl's gaze was as brief as the flutter of a hummingbird, but it hurt him like a sharp knife. It was not the gaze of the naive girl he spent many years with; it was not the same warm, bright and curious look that Mikasa Ackerman used to have. That look was cold and dull. The already dark eyes looked gloomy, without that spot of light that lit them like a starry night. He watched her getting in, feeling more and more guilty for the horrible acts he had committed, and in silence, he begged for forgiveness.

 

As soon as Armin finished covering the trunk, Eren got into the car to start, driving from that old warehouse in Elbleiten on their way to Berlin. The road was long and dark. The wind howled, freezing everything in its path, and the car staggered past the damaged road, the product of bomb attacks sent from England. Eren was holding the wheel, trying to ignore the fatigue of not having slept in so long, and Armin leaned his head in his seat, closing his eyes to rest for a while, waiting for his turn to drive and let Eren rest; but that did not happen. Eren kept driving until he reached an old, dark-looking farm.

 

The walls of the barn were clearly neglected, they needed a good coat of paint and replace some of the old wooden planks; the roof had several holes the cold streamed through, and it was clearly empty; there were no more animals left in it. It was practically abandoned. Dry branches adorned its surroundings and the door that was about to fall. This was the old Reiss farm. Eren and a hesitant Armin walked with firm steps to the door.

“Eren, are you sure Historia is here?” He asked hesitantly, seeing no sign of the mentioned one. There was not a single light, nor traces of any oil lamp; any noise.

“She said she would wait for us.”

Armin arched an eyebrow, continuing his search around. The barn door was locked inside, so there was a chance that Historia would be there. He walked looking for some alternative entrance, taking care that his steps did not attract attention, in case some stranger was lurking around the place. Instead, Eren thought of another solution.

“Historia!” The brown-haired soldier shouted loudly, putting his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. Armin was startled, afraid that anyone could hear them. “Histor -”

The barn door flew open. A mop of blonde hair, tangled with straws emerged from it. A small woman was rubbing her eyes and yawning, clearly just awakening from a long sleep. Her long, pink skirt wrinkled, and her dirty raincoat covered in dust and straw. Her reddened nose was runny, the product of a cold she had caught for being in the cold weather.

“What do you want?” She asked, annoyed, not realizing who had called her. She blinked a couple of times, trying to focus and recognize the figure in front of her. “Eren!”

"Didn’t Frieda teach you to act like a lady?" He asked sarcastically as he pulled one of the stems tangled in her golden hair. “I'll help them get off the car, open the barn.”

Historia rolled his eyes at the order she had received from the young soldier, snarling in her mind to avoid cursing him now that they should keep quiet. The barn doors were open, as was the old trunk in the car. The blue-eyed girl came out with an oil lamp, staring at the people who got out of the car. Curiously, she approached the raven-haired young woman who wore a jacket identical to Eren's. It did not take long to learn that this was Arlert's, before going to introduce herself to the Ackermans.

"Hello," she said calmly to an anxious young woman who immediately turned to see her. The height difference making Mikasa lower her chin to look at her. “You must be Mikasa, right?”

The dark gray met the liquid blue of the short girl's eyes, and like a frightened kitten, she looked around, almost hiding behind his father, wondering what she should do.

"Yes," she stammered. “I am Mikasa.”

"Well," announced Historia in a hasty and rushed whisper, taking the girl's hand next to her. “Let's get inside. We cannot stay here all night, can we?” The curious blond-haired girl began to walk, pulling Mikasa's hand. “ _Herr_ Ackerman, please, follow us. In a moment I will show you where you can spend the night.”

Armin, who had just joined the group, looked at Shmuel, nodding and smiling shyly.

"Okay, you can trust her," he said as he went into the barn, walking behind the two girls. “She seems to be getting along with Mikasa." Armin pointed out, carefully observing a talkative Historia, asking endless things to a shy Mikasa, who barely spoke.

Historia stopped in front of a pile of straw, where she had slept apparently. The floor stopped creeking as soon as she stopped walking. She pointed to some mats on the floor and some blankets on them, next to a couple of pillows.

"Sorry about the bad conditions of this place," she apologized, "but if I had more time, I'd have been able to get a couple of more comfortable cots, and some extra blankets to withstand the cold. It's all your fault, Eren!” she exclaimed at the end, pointing to the brown-haired soldier as he raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant.

“What the hell are you talking about, Historia?” he asked defensively. Armin rolled his eyes, laughing internally at the pair who looked like a couple of spoiled siblings fighting over anything. Mikasa took her father by the arm, helping him to sit on the mat to rest. Armin stood, watching as the dark-eyed girl sat next to her father and leaned on his shoulder, sobbing.

Armin knew that this was not easy at all. It was not something easy to digest. All those abrupt changes, all the events were too much to be able to bear them without feeling a huge confusion, so he could not say anything, nor did he try to. He only took one of the blankets and used it to cover both Ackermans with it, to protect them from the cold. He gave them an uncomfortable smile before walking away to join Eren and Historia, who fought like dogs and cats. He was trying to stop the argument in which she blamed her friend for being slow to tell her about the Ackermans' arrival, and Eren apologized saying it was impossible to run to contact her earlier.

After finally ending the meaningless discussion, Historia approached the family. A couple of bowls with a cold stew in her little hands.

“I'm sorry I can't offer something better, but I can't let you guys go to sleep with an empty stomach. I'm sure this pair of idiots didn't bother to look for something for you to eat," she spat the last sentence, clearly referring to Eren and Armin. “I hope you guys like It." she smiled, offering the bowls to the Ackermans, who hesitantly took them to start eating.

Historia got up to let them eat quietly, returning with her friends.

“Well, won’t you tell me how did you met them?” Historia asked as she sat on a heap of straw, pointing the boys to sit down just like her.

"It's a very long story," Armin replied, noticing how his friend got nervous, uncomfortable.

“Well, I'm all ears. Spill," Armin sighed, glancing at Eren to await his approval before the blond-haired boy began to tell the story of three separated children who met again, in the most tragic way.

 

 

* * *

 

**_Berlin, Germany. Spring of 1935._ **

****

_The swastika flew proudly out of German homes that day. The Klemkestrasse was covered in red and white, and the Hitler Jugend boys cockily showed the insignia on their left arms, celebrating the Führer's birthday. Military chants, children's games, food, drink and music were part of the glorious April 20, when the Germans celebrated with joy the Hitler's day. The children ran happily, enjoying a day without school, and the adults talked about adult things, far from the ears of the little ones. The Jaeger house was no exception, especially on that day when the famous Dr. Jaeger would receive visits from important members of the National Socialist Party. In the kitchen, Carla and her housekeeper prepared dinner that afternoon, and in the garden, Eren and his friends daydreamed with the day the three of them could escape and travel the world together._

_An alarm voice brought them out of their thoughts abruptly, causing them to get up from the green grass fast._

_"Eren, you haven't messed up your clothes, right? Tell me you didn't" Carla warned, looking at every corner of her son's body, while the boy's friends waited for instructions._

_"Of course not. We didn't move from here, right, guys?" The boy asked. Armin and Mikasa shook their heads quickly._

_"All right. Your father's friends have already arrived. You have to behave and be polite, okay?" Eren nodded. Carla looked at the two children. "Armin, sweetheart, you can come back tomorrow; Aunt Carla will wait for you with cookies and a glass of milk," The woman kissed the boy on the head, as a sign of farewell, and Armin, who was not slow in understanding, knew it was time to leave._

_"Good bye guys! I'll see you tomorrow!" The boy exclaimed, leaving through the back door to the road that led to his home._

_"Mom, can't they stay? They are my friends. They can meet dad's friends too …" Eren's protests would be useless. His mother shook her head._

_"No. It is not possible. Your father's friends are very serious gentlemen and they are not easy to deal with, honey, so we must all behave well," The amber-eyed woman addressed the girl this time. "Mikasa, your mother is waiting for you in the kitchen. I know you want to be with Eren, but you need to go with her, pretty girl. You'll do it for Aunt Carla, right?"_

_"Yes," the little girl answered, receiving the same kiss on the head that Armin had felt before leaving. Eren was discouraged and upset, and his annoyance increased as soon as he saw his friend get lost inside the house, on the way to the kitchen, where she would spend the rest of the afternoon with her mother._

_Carla hated that. She hated having to hide Tamara and Mikasa; but more than hiding them, there was something much more precious that should be hidden from the uniformed men who visited her house that day, for the good of both._

_Because those party members should not know that some Jews were on the same floor as an honorable German family. But what did a child know about honor and races? Eren just wanted to be with his friend._

_Members of the National Socialist Party made their appearance at Jaeger House. Dr. Grisha would take the opportunity to make his official entry into the party, as one of the most respected and valued doctors in Berlin. Of course, the Führer would like to have someone as eminent as him in his ranks, and although his wife had opposed such an opulent celebration and such intimidating guests as those soldiers were, her complaints did not help. There they were now, sixteen Schutzstaffel members, impeccably dressed in superb uniforms that indicated their high status within the party, with their wives hanging from their arms, bragging about their jewels and elegant suits, proudly proclaiming the "greatness" of the Aryan race as they moved into the house, greeting those who lived there. Grisha smiled genuinely; Carla nodded with mock politeness, and Eren grunted with annoyance whenever one of those annoying men waved his brown hair, looking at the kitchen from time to time, hoping to see Mikasa._

_However, there was no sign of her. The girl and her mother sat at the servants’ table, far away from the entrance, waiting for everyone to leave. However, there were still a few more hours left for that._

_There was food, dancing, talk and wine. The women gathered to start a conversation that did not involve politics, while the men exalted Hitler and the prowess of his government, blaming Jews for all the evils that plagued Germany. Sitting in a corner and playing lazily with toy soldiers, Eren sighed, tired of having to stay there until his father took pity on him and sent him to his room. He wished he could be in bed with his friends, talking about how they longed to grow up soon and go explore the world, together, the three of them. But nobody seemed interested in him, not even his mother; or at least, that was what the kid believed._

_"And this young man, when will he join the Hitler Jugend?"_

_The voice of one of the soldiers rose over the music and the rest of the guests'. Eren prayed to heavens to be swallowed by the ground when all eyes fell on him, a silent anger eating him up._

_"Never," the boy replied firmly, without raising his face. Carla opened her eyes with startling surprise, while Grisha hurried to fix his son's mistake before anyone could refute him._

_"Eren, I've told you that you'll make new friends there," the doctor warned with a sly, nervous laugh. "My good Eren doesn't want to be away from his best friend if they take him to a different unit from him. The Arlerts also plan to enlist their son next year."_

_"NO! I won't do it. Only the stupid ones like Marcel and Porko Galliard want to get in there ..."_

_"Eren!" the doctor's cry stopped the child's words abruptly; however, Grisha could not avoid the expressions of amazement and displeasure in his guests._

_"What is that kid saying?" asked one of the soldiers with indignation: a tall blond man with dull blue eyes. "Haven't you told your son that it's an affront to the Führer not wanting to be part of his select group of young people?"_

_"Herr Schirach, I apologize for my son. Eren acts without thinking and you know how children are," the doctor apologized, shaking the boy's hair. Eren crossed his arms, angry, but only managed to elicit his father's guests' laughter._

_"You're right, Dr. Jaeger. Children are like women: a headache," joked the soldier with disdain and haughtiness, while Carla smiled at the comment with bitter resignation. In a meeting like this, the gentlemen had the last word and, sadly, women had to limit themselves to accept their comments without the right to refute them. And although Grisha did not do them, neither did he disapprove._

_Actually, nobody could._

_"The boy will change his mind as soon as he joins the ranks of the Hitler Jugend. I assure you, Doctor. Well," the soldier announced, holding up the cup to ignore and conclude the child's issue," we should make a toast to our dear Doctor Jaeger's entry into the German National Socialist Party. For that, and for our Führer's birthday, cheers!"_

_The glasses rose; all, except Carla's, despite her husband's disapproving gaze. The amber-eyed woman did her best to remain serene, however, Grisha had to know that she did not agree with anything that was held there. Hitler, the SS soldiers, the party and the flags that waved that afternoon in the Klemkestrasse and all over Berlin were an affront to the goodness of the human being._

_And she was not willing to be part of that circus._

_When the wine was over at the Jaeger table, one of the soldiers walked to the kitchen without asking. Had he done so, Carla herself would have stopped him, offering to look for the next bottle herself. But that tall and arrogant-looking man only entered the kitchen, finding a dark-haired woman sitting silently in a corner next to a girl who resembled her._

_"Oh, my apologies. I didn't know there were people in the kitchen. Are you the servants?" the soldier asked haughtily, still looking at them. Suddenly, his interest had passed from the wine to the woman and the girl in the corner._

_Tamara Ackerman nodded, hiding her daughter's face in her chest._

_"That's right, sir. Can I help you with something?"_

_"I came for a bottle of wine, but I wonder why you are here instead of serving out there."_

_"I apologize, sir. But my daughter is not feeling well, and I asked Fräu Jaeger to let me stay here to take care of her."_

_"I'm not -" Mikasa's voice was discreetly silenced, when her mother slid her index finger over her mouth in a subtle way. The soldier with empty and tasteless eyes did not take his eyes off._

_"Wow. I think Fräu Jaeger should have let you go instead of keeping you here. So you could go home and take better care of the girl, right, little one? What's your name?" That tall man approached the girl, coming down to the same height and taking a treat out of his pants pocket._

_Despite distrusting the blond man, Tamara did not show a bit of fear. The little girl looked at her mother before she could receive the treat and saw her nod._

_"Mikasa."_

_"Mikasa?" The soldier's voice sharpened and his blond eyebrows arched with unexpected curiosity, looking back to the mother. "Are you German?"_

_"Of course, sir. But my father was Japanese."_

_"Oh, I understand everything," the soldier declared, as if analyzing each one of her features and making fun of them at the same time with delicate subtlety. However, Tamara was not stupid. "Hmm, I see. What's your last name, Mikasa?"_

_Mikasa looked at her mother again; but the woman could not refuse._

_"Ackerman."_

_"Ackermann?" With a false smile, the soldier leaned a little closer to the girl, as if he wanted to sharpen his hearing. With double "n", I guess..."_

_With the innocence of a ten-year-old girl, Mikasa shook her head. She knew exactly how her last name was written, and she did not have two "n's", unlike the Ackermanns of Aryan origin._

_"It only has one. A-C-K-E-R-M-A-N," she spelled._

_The uniformed man frowned as the girl spelled her name, and his dull eyes looked at the woman suspiciously._

_"You say you are Japanese?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"And why does your daughter mention a Jewish name?" The soldier asked, his voice harsh and stern. Tamara paled; however, her face did not move even by an inch._

_"My husband is Jewish, sir."_

_"The girl's father?" Tamara nodded at the question. The soldier stood up again; He tapped with pride and disdain and walked to the door, after finding the bottle of wine. "Well, at least you are where you should be: in the kitchen."_

_Before leaving, Carla entered the room, stunned to find the soldier in front of her. With a proud and dignified gesture, the man in the black uniform patted before the brown-haired woman and smiled smugly, uncovering the bottle, silently toasting the superiority of his presence in front of two creatures as insignificant as that mother and her daughter._

_"You did well to hide them, Fräu Jaeger. You're a sensible woman. We wouldn't want to have to endure Jewish slag while celebrating the Führer's birthday, would we?"_

_The words echoed in the air like poisonous daggers. Bewildered, Carla walked towards Tamara, with worry marking her face and pale lips, as if the blood had escaped from her body. The black-haired woman sighed, removing the disgusting candy from her daughter's hands and throwing it to the trash._

_"Tamara, are you okay? Did something happen?"_

_"No, don't worry, Carla. Mikasa and I are fine."_

_Carla sighed, bringing her hand to her chest with a sonorous and liberating gasp._

_"God ... I don't know how it is that I didn't realize that this man entered the kitchen. Forgive me ... I hate that they say that kind of thing."_

_"It's okay. You shouldn't bother about anything. My husband and I are already used to that kind of comments. We must listen to them daily, and Mikasa knows that she should not pay attention to them."_

_There was silence for a few seconds. Carla put her hands to her head, ruffling her perfectly combed hair a bit, and then stifling a scream of despair._

_"I hate this …" she whispered. Tamara barely could hear her. But she didn't answer. "I'll be back when they're gone, okay?"_

_Tamara and Mikasa nodded, wishing as much as Carla that the hours would pass quickly and be able to come out of hiding. They also hated it; They hated the racists and the foolish people who followed Hitler, silently wondering when all this would end._

_And when the night arrived and the house Jaeger only knew the voices of its three inhabitants, the doctor's wife decided to speak what had been silent the whole evening. Her son was asleep, or so she thought. Carla waited for her husband, sitting on the edge of the bed with eyes on the ground and sorrow in her soul, trying to imagine where all this would take them._

_"Carla, what's happening? You should be sleeping already."_

_The doctor pushed aside the blankets to enter the bed. His wife turned to him._

_"I don't want another one of these meetings in my house, Grisha."_

_That trigger phrase made the doctor stand up on the bed again._

_"From now on, they will be my most frequent clients, woman. The people who will feed us."_

_"I think you should stay with your old clients; with people who have some kindness in their hearts, and not with cowards like those you brought to your house today so that your son had to hear all the stupid things they wanted to say. Can you hear me, Grisha?"_

_"What's wrong with you, Carla? Eren did n't hear anything that he has not heard before at school and outside. You're overreacting. The fact that you don't like them does not mean they are bad people."_

_"Ah, aren't they? So what did the comment that man made Tamara in the kitchen mean? What's with that idea they gave you to fire that poor woman and hire a German maid? Don't you see how stupid it is? Is it that you will really listen to them and dismiss that woman who has served us so well?"_

_"They have their reasons, Carla. I can't contradict them ..."_

_"Fuck their reasons. Dammit! If you think you should do what they tell you, then this marriage is over, Grisha. I'm not going to let you give in to the whims of some racist pigs just because you had to join that crap party, and in the process hurt Eren with such a stupid decision."_

_"Hurt Eren? Why do you put Eren in this?"_

_"Because my son, our son, doesn't want to be part of them, and because you're not going to fire Tamara and leave him without one of the only two friends he has. Remember that Mikasa and Armin are the only children your son has got along with, and you're not going to take that away from him, is that clear?"_

_The tension was so thick in that room that they could almost feel it. The discussion continued, and the arguments came and went, traversing the walls of the house and the ears of the third and youngest inhabitant of that place. Eren had heard everything: his mother's longing for justice, and his father's faint-hearted indecision. He thought of Mikasa and Armin, and how happy he was with them; he thought of his friends and their dreams; that she was born a Jew, and he did not understand why it was a sin for some. Eren would have given anything to be stained with her blood, and thus suffer in the same way, if with it could pay for an invisible transgression that nobody could decipher, and then no one, no one, would harm Mikasa again._

_And Eren closed his eyes, his head full of questions no one could answer, planning an escape route for her friend in the best way he could. Maybe Armin would help him, maybe together they could find a way to stay together, while, at the same time, a girl with raven hair listened to her parents talking, threatening the tranquility that had so long embraced her._

_._

_"Shmuel, we should leave Berlin. Go to the United States, or South America ... Shmuel, are you listening to me?" Tamara asked, holding a hand lamp for her husband, who fixed the dishwasher faucet at this time of night. The woman spoke in whispers, but her daughter could hear everything from her small room. Like Eren, Mikasa had not been able to fall asleep in the early hours either._

_"Tamara, please. It's crazy what you say, woman. Do you know how much a trip to America costs? Or should I ask: do you know if we have all that money?" Shmuel Ackerman continued turning the tap, without looking at his wife. The constant drop of water should stop, instead of becoming thicker._

_"I know we don't have all that money, but we could save it, darling, and that's how we would get out of this country once and for all ..."_

_"Tamara …" Shmuel left the monkey wrench on the counter and leaned on the edge after sighing deeply. "We have a life here; jobs, food. Mikasa goes to school and has friends, and you know she won't want to separate from them easily. Why would we leave, when we have here what is necessary to live?"_

_"Hey ... I'm worried about everything that's happening. Those soldiers, the Nazis ... Hitler doing his thing in the government and forbidding us more and more things. Look at everything we have to endure every day ..."_

_"Listen to me," the husband declared, with his hands on his wife's shoulders. "None of this will get worse. It is one of that man and his followers' tantrums; They just want to scare us, my love. Nothing will happen, trust me."_

_"But -"_

_"Come on, honey, don't let those people scare you, okay? I think you've been talking a lot with Kuchel. My sister has the same idea as you: to leave this country with Levi."_

_"Well, there must be a reason, don't you think? A serious reason. You should listen to us."_

_"I know that nothing will happen. And if things get drastically worse, I swear I'll find a way to go to America. Otherwise, let's remain calm, woman. We don't need to worry about something temporary."_

_A kiss was the continuation of that talk. Shmuel smiled broadly, and his wife, resigned, sighed goodnight, begging to heavens for her husband to be right. With open eyes and attentive ears, Mikasa waited until her mother had left and went out of her room, with bare feet while hugging a teddy bear. When he saw her, his father dried his hands and received her in his lap, as if he had been waiting to see her._

_But that would not have been strange. Anyway, Shmuel knew his daughter well._

_"You cann't sleep, right?" The father asked, sitting the girl on his legs. Mikasa found refuge in her father's chest._

_"We won't leave, will we, Papa? I don't wanna leave..."_

_Shmuel Ackerman cradled his only daughter in his arms._

_"We won't do it if it's not necessary, young lady. There is only one thing you need to worry about, and it should be school. Agree?"_

_Mikasa nodded, hugging her father and the faint smell of pine in his clothes that always dozed her._

_"Yes."_

_"Now go to sleep. Have you already prayed?" He asked. The girl shook her head._

_"All right. Let's do it together. Come on."_

_Two pairs of feet returned to the bedroom of the youngest of the Ackerman family. Mikasa slipped back into her bed and her father covered her with a blanket, before sitting next to her._

_"You start," said the girl with a smile. Shmuel nodded._

_"Agreed. Cover your eyes like mom does," Mikasa obeyed. And a second later, a prayer in a thousand-year-old language rose to the heavens, when two Jewish souls cried out to their Creator for a future where they could live in peace._

_"Shma Israel, Adonai Elocheinu, Adonai Echad …"_

* * *

 

The blond-haired girl got up from her place to say goodbye to the pair of soldiers, closing the barn door behind her. He turned to the pair of mats, noticing how Mikasa sat, hugging her legs and her face hidden in them. Historia walked with slow steps towards her, holding the oil lamp that swayed with her walk.

"You can't sleep, can you?" she asked, sitting on the mat. Mikasa shook her head. "You need something?" she asked with concern, trying to put a hand over the black-haired girl's shoulder, who pulled away from her with fear. Historia understood that gesture, and she knew that there was no reason to be offended, or take it personally. She understood her fear and distrust.

"Why are you helping us? Do you know the problem that you will get into if you get caught?" Mikasa asked with a thin voice. Historia just smiled, settling a golden strand of hair behind her ear. "You know it, don't you?"

"Any person who lives in this country knows it."

"So?" Worried, she raised her voice. "Why are you doing it?" Historia giggled slightly. Confused, Mikasa raised an eyebrow.

"There's a very special person for me," she explained. "That person asked me a big favor before she left…" Mikasa felt embarrassed to push her to talk about something so personal; however, she let her go on. "Wait, she's not dead, if that's what you imagine," She laughed a little, guessing Mikasa's thoughts, it was so simple with only seeing her face. "I'm sure she's fine, it's just that ... I promised her that, with or without her, I would go on my own, acting according to what I believe in."

"And what do you believe in?"

"Do you know what I believe?" she asked. Mikasa shook her head. "I believe that Hitler and everyone who follows him is a stupid son of a whore." Mikasa opened her eyes in surprise, hoping that her father was asleep so he didn’t hear what came out of the girl's mouth. But Shmuel had been asleep for a long time. Historia was classy, even when such words came out of her mouth. "So, I'll do everything in my power to go against him, even if it's just helping someone escape," she confessed. Mikasa remained incredulous. A girl like her, with such fine clothes and a majestic demeanor that could only belong to a privileged class. A girl from a good family. Why would a carefree girl dare to go against her privileges? "Anyway, you should go to sleep. I will spend the night here, too. Tomorrow will be a new day," She got up, settling her skirt and walking towards a pile of straw. Good night," she said, turning off the lamp and covering herself with a blanket.

Mikasa followed her suit, lying down and closing her eyes to rest.

 

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**Sorry for our mistakes. We had no betareader for this chapter so hope you enjoy and understand.**


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